Title: Hot Fudge Sundae

Author: Scooter

Email:

Rating: PG-13.

Category: C.J./Ron

Disclaimer: Not mine, or Ron would be a regular. Please don't sue.

Summary: "It's like when you see a hot fudge sundae, you get a craving, but after a while, you get over it and order a salad."

Spoilers: Through Season 3, but vague.

Archive: Please let me know where, and keep my name attached.

Note: Another response to the CJ/Ron challenge. 500 words. This is a CJ POV. I'd had the hot fudge thing in my head for a while, and this seemed as good a place as any to use it.

Feedback: would be lovely.

I have a crush on Ron Butterfield.

More like an infatuation. I watch him during the day and fantasize about him at night. Last week, I actually cornered Pam Thayer and, though a series of none-too-subtle questions, determined that he was single, straight and available.

Not that it matters. I don't even know if he can date someone on the President's staff, and I refuse to embarrass myself by finding out.

I'll just suffer through this infatuation until it goes away.

Except he's standing outside my office.

"May I come in?" He's polite, definitely a gentleman, which is certainly part of the appeal ... focus.

"Sure. Yeah. Um, have a seat."

He closes the door behind him, sits down and looks at me. He seems a bit ruffled. "C.J.," he begins, "I don't exactly know how to have this conversation, but is there anything we need to discuss?"

He's lost me. I must look blank because he continues, "It's just ... you've been acting odd around me lately, and I've noticed you looking at me, and I don't want to read too much into it, but-"

Oh, God. He knows. He notices things for a living; of course he'd notice me panting after him.

"Shit." I lean my forehead on the desk and cover my eyes. No way can I look at him.

"C.J.?"

I'm talking to the desk. "Yes, I have a crush on you. Don't worry, I'll get over it."

"C.J., I'm not asking you to-"

"It'll go away. It's like when you see a hot fudge sundae, you get a craving, but after a while, you get over it and order a salad. Just give me a little time and we can forget this happened."

"You're comparing me to a hot fudge sundae?"

I'm a total idiot.

"C.J., honestly I'm flattered-"

He's trying to let me down easy. "Ron, you're very kind. Please go now." I'm still studying my desk.

Thankfully, he leaves, so I can be alone with my humiliation.

How can I look him in the eye again?

"Staff in five!" Carol yells.

Perfect. Staff, then a briefing. Maybe I can just avoid him...

...I return from my afternoon briefing a few Ron-free hours later.

As I walk into my office, I notice a brown shopping bag on my desk.

"Carol!"

Carol sticks her head in. "Ron Butterfield brought it over a half hour ago. That's all I know."

Interesting. I close the door, walk to my desk, and peer inside the bag.

Oh my goodness.

Sitting in the bag are a can of whipped cream, a jar of maraschino cherries ... and a jar of hot fudge sauce.

Is this a joke or his way of making me feel better?

There's a card at the bottom of the bag. I flip it open.

And then I quickly sit down.

Holy shit.

The message is short, but it leaves no doubt about where Ron stands.

'C.J. – Call me if you ever want a taste. Ron'